


Captive Audience

by Suzie_Shooter



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Booby Traps, Gen, Gen Work, Kidnapping, Prisoners
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-31
Updated: 2014-03-31
Packaged: 2018-01-17 17:34:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1396525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suzie_Shooter/pseuds/Suzie_Shooter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the kinkmeme prompt: <br/>"During a mission, Athos is captured by Very Bad Men. They take him to a hideout in the woods or a vacant warehouse or something with a bunch of other captives/hostages. Life is unpleasant, but escape, for whatever reason, looks pretty unlikely, and someone who doesn't know him could be forgiven for assuming that Athos is helpless. So Athos spends his time waiting for rescue by prepping the Bad Guy Camp for his friends' eventual arrival. Peace-tying the Bad Guy's swords, organizing the other captives (bonus if they are primarily women and children), and quietly making Molotov cocktails out of their liquor stores. Maybe he rigs some of the more tenuous architecture to fall with one well-placed shove. When the moment comes and the small but fierce cavalry arrives, Athos unleashes chaos, orchestrating a firestorm of shit onto the unsuspecting baddies. His audience is appreciative."</p><p>Also featuring the Mother Superior, because who better to find yourself locked up with than a BAMF nun.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Captive Audience

The first indication that his surveillance had perhaps not been as unobtrusive as he thought was when something heavy and blunt connected with the back of his head. As his view of the suspected kidnappers dissolved into stars and blackness, Athos' last conscious thought was at least he appeared to have found the right place.

When he next opened his eyes it was to a world of pain in his head, and to find himself lying on a dirt floor in a dim room with his hands bound behind him. Shadowy figures were gathered above him and he tensed, ready for a boot in the ribs or worse - but they seemed to be more intent on arguing. Oddly, at least two appeared to be women.

"I'm telling you, we don't know who he is. It could be a trap, he could be a spy, he could be one of them!" A female voice, clearly one used to being obeyed but with a brittle edge of fear that she was trying to disguise.

"And I'm telling you, I know this man," came the calm reply. "He can be trusted, we should untie him. He will help us."

Athos frowned. He knew that voice. He was sure he did.

He cleared his throat and the arguing cut off abruptly as they realised he was awake. Blinking the blurriness away from his vision, Athos counted six of them - a regal looking lady and her probable lady-in-waiting, two children clustered at her skirts, an elderly man in the habit of a monk, and lastly - yes - the Mother Superior of the convent they'd taken refuge in with the Queen some months past.

Her hands were folded undramatically into the sleeves of her habit, and she looked a lot less surprised to see him than he was to see her. In fact, if he didn't know better he'd have said the look on her face was one of slight amusement.

But first things first. He looked up at the lady who appeared to be advocating he should remain tied up and who was currently clutching a piece of timber with the kind of expression that suggested if he moved she'd hit him. 

"Madame Beauchene?" he asked.

She stiffened and raised the makeshift club. "See! How would he know who I was if he wasn't one of them?"

Athos sighed inwardly. The Mother Superior caught his eye. "You're not helping your case here, boy," she murmured.

He rolled onto his side and managed to sit up, judging correctly that his would-be assailant would scuttle back nervously rather than strike him.

"I am Athos of the King's Musketeers. I know who you are because I was sent to _find_ you," he said, trying very hard to keep the note of impatience out of his voice. "You were abducted from the cathedral yesterday afternoon with your children; His Eminence received the ransom demand late last night." And his blasted reluctance to pay it has had us all combing the city for you ever since, Athos added mentally. 

Madame Beauchene finally lowered the spar and nodded. "My apologies sir," she said grudgingly.

"Not at all," Athos murmured. "A fighting spirit in times of adversity can be a valuable thing." He sat patiently as his hands were untied then climbed to his feet, rubbing at his wrists.

"Madame Beauchene and her family I was expecting," he said. "But I had not thought to find you here, Reverend Mother."

"I was to be a short time in Paris, on business. I stopped to pray at the cathedral," she replied. "Brother Renard and I were - in the wrong place at the wrong time, you might say." She smiled. "Or perhaps at the right time. There is comfort to be found in numbers."

Madame Beauchene bowed slightly to her. "The Reverend Mother has been praying for our deliverance," she said, clutching the ornate crucifix around her neck devoutly.

"And I'm pleased to see he has delivered with such prompt attention."

Athos smiled. "Me? I'm hardly the answer to anyone's prayers. And I'm afraid getting myself captured wasn't exactly part of the plan." He looked around the room they were in. It was an empty storeroom, presumably part of the same warehouse he'd been investigating when he'd been discovered. The sole window was small, dirty and high up, and they'd been given a candle-lantern for additional light.

He looked at the Mother Superior. "You've been here, what, since yesterday? What are the possibilities?"

She shook her head ruefully. "Limited, sadly limited. The walls are stone, the door is solid, and there's a man on guard in the room above at all times. There is, as you can see, an old timber-saw, but it was too heavy for us to use, and the only thing we could have used it on was the floor."

"No escape that way?" Athos wondered, but she shook her head. 

"This part of the warehouse is out over the river. Straight drop into the water." She sighed regretfully. "None of us can swim."

"Still." Athos studied the saw thoughtfully. It was longer than he was tall, rusty but with wicked looking, jagged teeth and a wooden handle at each end. "It has potential. What else?"

She lead him to the opposite corner, where an opening in the brickwork of the wall appeared to continue through the ceiling. "Used to be a chimney, I think. It goes right up into the room above. We can hear them talking sometimes, it's how we know there's always someone on guard. Too small for us to climb through, unfortunately."

Athos nodded, glancing over the rest of the company thoughtfully.

"What about the window?" 

"Too small again. And looks out over the river, so we couldn't even shout to anyone for help."

Athos took a running leap at the wall and pulled himself up to the high sill. The glazing was dusty and the panes small. She was right, not even the children could squeeze through here. But - a signal could be displayed, perhaps. Something that could mark the building. He jumped down again, to find the Mother Superior looking at him expectantly. 

"May we assume your friends are on their way?" she asked.

Athos nodded. "They certainly know the district I was searching in. When I don't return - they'll come looking," he said confidently, hoping they didn't just assume he'd sloped off for a drink somewhere. "However - the deadline for the ransom was midday, which isn't far off."

"They may not find us in time?" She nodded gravely. "Then what must we do?"

Athos pursed his lips, considering options. "My lady," he said, addressing not Madame Beauchene but her companion. "Not wishing to be indelicate, but - might I take possession of your underskirts?"

"Arianne, you will do no such thing!" Madame Beauchene instructed tartly.

The two women looked scandalised. The Mother Superior looked amused. Athos sighed. 

"Only - they are a very vivid red, and if they were to be hung from the window, anyone searching for this building from the far bank might take notice," he explained. 

After a certain amount of indignant huffing and objecting on principle, the ladies finally accepted the sense of it and Arianne wriggled out of her skirts while the gentlemen of the party stood with backs decorously turned.

"Here." Athos turned as a hand touched his arm, and the bunched skirts were offered to him. "I don't take these off for just anyone, m'sieur," Arianne murmured discreetly, and Athos fought down a sudden urge to laugh as she winked at him.

"I am much obliged," he managed, and turned hastily away, ignoring the knowing look he was getting from the Reverend Mother. 

He scrambled back up to the window sill and knocked out the thin panes of glass with his elbow, fastening the cloth to the frame and feeding the rest through. The material caught the breeze and billowed out better than he'd expected.

"Good." He slid back to the floor, and went over to the chimney hole. "Now we need to know what we're up against. And this is our best shot at it."

"But none of us could fit through," Brother Renard told him. "We tried."

"None of the adults perhaps," Athos said, eyes resting on Madame Beauchene's son. "But - sorry, I don't know your name?"

"Luc," the boy replied in a small voice, looking faintly terrified. He was about nine years old, fair haired and dressed in the kind of fussy lace and brocade that Athos remembered with loathing from his own childhood.

"You might be able to squeeze through?" Athos suggested. Luc looked more terrified than ever, and Athos was about to apologise and withdraw the suggestion when Luc's sister piped up instead.

"I could go."

"Chloe! You will not!" Madame Beauchene declared. Athos ignored her, crouching down to study the girl. She was perhaps two years younger than her brother, with hair in fussy ringlets and a bright look in her eye.

"You wouldn't be afraid?" Athos asked. Chloe shook her head.

"I'm smaller than Luc," she said practically. Then, with a sideways look at her brother, added, "and quieter."

Athos nodded. "Very well. All you need to do is get to the top and take a look, tell us how many men there are, and what they are doing, can you do that for me?"

Chloe nodded immediately, but her mother pulled her away. "I will not let you endanger my daughter in this way!"

Athos stood up and looked at her gravely. "She is in as much danger as we are, and just as likely to be shot like a rat in a barrel along with the rest of us when the ransom is not paid. As, regrettably, I must inform you it will not be. Does she not deserve the chance to assist in her own survival if she can?"

While Madame Beauchene was mulling this over, Chloe pulled away from her and came over to Athos, looking up at him trustingly. "How do I get up there though?" she asked.

"I can lift you up," he said, finally receiving a begrudging nod of agreement from her mother. He lead her over to the corner and hesitated. "Your face is very pale, I'm afraid it will stand out in the shadows and be noticed. Do you mind if we make it a little dirtier?"

Chloe shook her head, glancing towards her mother with a wicked gleam of amusement. Athos rubbed traces of old soot from the chimney breast and carefully daubed it over her cheeks, chin and forehead.

Luc had come over to watch this, and sniggered. "You look like a ragamuffin," he said. Chloe stuck her tongue out. 

"And you look like a poodle. At least I can wash."

"Please!" Athos protested, fearful a full-scale war was about to break out. "Can we keep our voices down? If we can hear them, they can hear us."

Everyone fell silent, suddenly nervous. Athos listened carefully at the bottom of the opening, and decided all was quiet above. He lifted Chloe as high as he could into the dark chimney, until her hands and flailing feet found purchase on the old brickwork. 

"Remember," he call quietly up after her. "Just take a look and come back. Don't be afraid of falling, I'll catch you."

Chloe nodded, and was gone in a rustle of skirts. Athos waited at the bottom, tensed for any movement or outcry. He hated having to use a child for this work, but they needed to know what they were up against and it was the only way.

The seconds ticked past and Chloe didn't return. Madame Beauchene started to mutter anxiously, but Athos paid no attention, senses fixed on the dark opening above. There'd been no shouts or commotion, he was confident Chloe hadn't been discovered - but she still might be stuck, or afraid.

Suddenly there was a slithering of soot and two feet appeared kicking wildly in the void. Athos caught at her ankles and Chloe gave a muffled shriek.

"It's alright! It's me," Athos hissed. "You can let go, it's okay."

Taking him at his word, and in any case at the limits of her strength and bravery, Chloe released her grip on the crumbling bricks and dropped into his arms. 

Athos caught her safely and lowered her to the floor. She hugged him fiercely for a second, taking him by surprise, then let go.

"Well done." Athos ruffled her hair, releasing a cloud of soot. "Did you see them?"

Chloe nodded, wiping her face with a grimy hand that made it even dirtier. She looked around, then went to stand beneath the chimney facing the room, frowning in recollection. 

"There's a table just here - " she paced forwards, marking it out. "It hid me, and I climbed right out. There were men sitting over here - " she moved to the far corner of the room, towards the window. "Three of them. Playing cards I think. And they were drinking." She turned to her left, towards the door. "There's a man standing by the door that's above this one, too. He wasn't drinking, 'cause I heard him complain about it."

"Four of them?" Athos checked. "That was all?"

Chloe nodded. 

"There were four that took us," Brother Renard observed. "Armed with pistols. That must be all of them."

"You did well," Athos told Chloe with a smile. "Very well. Thank you, you were very brave." She grinned back at him, then looked at her brother and crossed her eyes triumphantly.

"I don't see how this gets us any further forward," Madame Beauchene protested.

"Know your enemy," Athos muttered. "Know his strengths, and weaknesses, and you're halfway to defeating him. Chloe, you said they were drinking - did they seem very drunk, to you, apart from the guard?"

Chloe considered. "Not very," she said doubtfully, then brightened. "There was a crate of bottles under the table. Really close to the fireplace. We could steal them and - " she faltered. "I don't know. Do something. Throw them?"

"Did you see what was in them?" Athos asked, walking across to test the sharpness of the old timber saw.

"Brandy, I think."

He turned back to find the Mother Superior watching him closely. "We could light them," she suggested eagerly. "Like before?"

Athos shook his head. "It would be too much to ask Chloe to steal the lot. The more often she goes up, the higher the risk of being seen, and she'd never be able to carry more than one at a time. Although..." He looked thoughtful. "Used well, one might be enough."

"You do have a plan!" she accused with an eager countenance. "Let us help."

Madame Beauchene stopped trying to clean the soot from Chloe's face with a handkerchief and stared at them. "We're just going to make them angry," she protested. "God will protect us, I am sure."

The Reverend Mother exchanged a look with Athos. "The Lord helps those who help themselves," she announced. "If we are able to meet Him halfway - well. I've always found Him to be a most appreciative audience."

Madame Beauchene sniffed disapprovingly but made no further objection. Athos gathered his thoughts.

"Right. I'll need fine thread and something strong enough to be used as rope. Chloe, if you're willing, I need you to make another trip upstairs. Oh, and we need hymns." He smiled, with grim amusement. "Very - loud - hymns."

\--

Half an hour later Athos took stock. He had a skein of thin thread unravelled from Arianne's chemise, a sacrifice she had been entirely willing to make to the cause. He had a bottle of brandy that Chloe had lifted from the crate upstairs with a level of stealth and nimbleness worthy of one brought up in the Court of Miracles. He had a coil of stout twisted cloth made from the habit of Brother Renard, now shivering slightly in his undershirt and hose. 

Under cover of the lusty singing lead by the Mother Superior, he'd also sawn most of the way through most of the floorboards just in front of the door. And he had the saw. 

Now he took the separated threads in one hand and carefully doused them in the brandy, sympathising somewhat with Brother Renard's look of dismay at what might be considered a waste. He resisted the temptation to suck his fingers, and handed the soaking strands to Chloe. 

"You understand what to do?"

"Uncork the rest of the bottles and tuck in the strings with the rest of the cloth. And feed them back to the fireplace."

Athos nodded. "If you're seen, or think you've been seen, you drop everything and slide back down here immediately. Don't hesitate for a second, do you understand me?"

"Yes sir." 

"Good." Athos patted her on the shoulder, and hoisted her once more up into the chimney. A shower of brick dust and soot rained down on him, then she was gone. 

"Do my face too." Athos looked down to find Luc tugging at his belt. "I want to be camouflaged as well," he insisted. 

Athos shrugged, and obligingly proceeded to smear soot over the boy's face as he'd done for Chloe. When he was done, Luc shifted from foot to foot, apparently unwilling to leave, and finally whispered, "It should have been me, shouldn’t it?" looking a little shamefaced.

Athos shook his head. "It's no good sending people on missions if they're not ready," he said confidingly. "But if you want to help, I have another job in mind you would be perfect for." Luc nodded eagerly, but before Athos could expand on it, the sound of the bolts being drawn back on the door made everybody freeze.

Athos fixed his eyes on a spot away from the chimney. He risked giving Chloe away if he looked up, but he daren't move in case she came down in a hurry.

One of the kidnappers strode into the room and glared round at them. "Will you stow that bloody row?" he snarled. "You're giving us all a flaming headache!"

In the brief silence that followed, the occupants of the room were acutely aware of the slight creaking of wood beneath his feet. He was standing on the half-sawn-through boards.

"The sound of the holy word is displeasing to you?" asked the Mother Superior with a tone of mild rebuke. "You are godless creatures, and will no doubt meet your end accordingly. Repent now, join with our hymns, and your crimes may be forgiven, in the next life at least."

The man spat a word at her that would have made a sailor blush, before turning and marching back out, bolting the door.

She gave a long suffering sigh. "These men are beginning to try my patience."

"The boards didn't break," Brother Renard observed.

"Nor were they meant to," Athos told him. "I didn’t want them collapsing if the first man through that door was a musketeer. They'll need a little help." He nodded at Luc. "That's where you come in."

There was a rustle from the chimney above. "Has he gone?" Chloe called down in a tight voice. "I don't think I can hold on much longer."

Athos hastily swung her back down, full of apologies and grateful their captor hadn't noticed she was missing from the room. 

"All done?" he asked, and she nodded. "Then we're in business." He took hold of the saw and looked up at the rafter. "Brother Renard, if you're feeling strong, I'm going to need a leg up." 

The old monk looked dubious, until the Mother Superior gave him a conspiratorial nudge. "I think there might be some brandy left in the bottle," she murmured. "If that would help convey a little strength to your bones? Medicinal-like?"

This proved a strong bargain, and so Athos shortly found himself clambering from his shoulder onto one of the wooden ceiling beams with the cord plaited from Renard's torn-up robe in one hand, reaching for the handle of the saw with the other.

When all was fixed, Athos jumped down again, and handed the other end of the rope to Brother Renard, explaining what he wanted. "Can you do it?" he asked. "I know it's a lot to ask a man of the cloth. I can do it myself if you would prefer, it's just I would be better used defending the ladies."

Renard drew himself up. "Before I was a monk, I was forty years in his majesty's army," he declared. "I shall manage very well."

Athos nodded approvingly. "Luc, you next." He lifted him up to the windowsill, then heaved up after him a small barrel. It had been mouldering in the corner, last remnant of the warehouse's once legitimate commercial life. It had held molasses or something similar that had set and crystallised until it was utterly hard and extremely heavy. 

Distantly, first one then a number of church clocks started to chime the midday hour. Athos took up the lantern and handed it to Chloe. "You're on. Stay out of sight, and don’t light the fuses until the men come down for us, okay?"

She nodded solemnly, and endured a stifling hug from her mother, who was reluctant to let go. Athos finally gently pulled her away. "Chloe will be the safest of all of us," he murmured. He looked at the girl. "If you get a clear chance at the door, run for it," he advised. "Otherwise shelter in the chimney, it'll protect you." He boosted her up into the hole for the last time, and turned to face the door, standing slightly in front of the three ladies. 

He was heartened to note that Madame Beauchene had taken up the piece of wood she'd threatened him with at the beginning and Arianne was holding the now empty brandy bottle by the neck. Both looked afraid, but also furious. He was glad. Angry was good.

"I don't have a weapon," said the Mother Superior quietly. 

Athos frowned. "Come to that, neither do I." They'd taken his sword and pistol when he'd been captured. He glanced back at her. "Looks like we'll just have to take one off the first man through the door," he said grimly.

She folded her hands in an attitude of prayer and smiled at him. "You are right, of course. The Lord will provide."

Athos took a deep breath, flexing his fingers in his leather gloves. There were more of them than their captors, and they were as prepared as he could make them - but they were facing battle-trained men with guns and swords, and he knew in his heart it was almost certainly a futile stand. But he would go down fighting.

There were boots on the stairs, and he tensed. "This is it."

The door flew open and the leader of the kidnappers grinned at them unpleasantly. "Time's up lady," he sneered at Madame Beauchene. "His Eminence has seen fit not to pay up. Which is a shame. We thought maybe if we sent him a few parts of your son he might change his mind?" 

He stepped forward onto the creaking boards and Athos yelled "Luc, now!"

The boy shoved the barrel off the windowsill and it crashed to the floor.

The man's look of alarm turned to one of derision as he realised it was nowhere near him. "Fucking missed!" he spat, then staggered, as the weight of the barrel splintered through the sawn-off timbers and crashed through to the river below. Boards cracked and tore all around him, and he disappeared downwards with a yell of terror and a distant splash.

"Right on target, I'd have said," Athos murmured.

A second face appeared in the doorway, and another man edged into the room, pointing his pistol at Athos as the one who looked the most threatening. "Hands where I can see them," he spat. "You too." This to Renard, who was standing at the back of the room. 

"If you insist," Renard replied, and lifted his hands in a gesture of surrender - letting go the rope he'd been holding.

Loosed from his hold, the cord whipped up in the air and the heavy saw, until now held horizontally against the rafter, swung down on its deadly descent. The man looked up, confused by the blur of metal heading for his face. It was the last thing he saw.

Blood spattered across the floor, and he fell with a thud. Madame Beauchene looked ill. Luc cheered. The Reverend Mother crossed herself, and caught Athos' eye. 

"Saw point," she muttered.

Athos stifled an entirely inappropriate laugh and scooped up the man's pistol, levelling it at the last two men that had appeared in the doorway.

"Back up, or you'll go the same way," he advised.

Two pistols were aimed into the room. 

"You can't take both of us out before we shoot at least one of you," the first man said. "Who's it to be?"

At this point, the flames travelling along the brandy-soaked threads in the room above finally pounced hungrily on the bottles themselves, and half the ceiling collapsed in a explosion that far surpassed anything Athos had expected. He realised he should have asked Chloe how many bottles there were, and then a cold fist closed around his heart. _Chloe._

He looked towards the chimney, but the air was full of dust and burning timbers. A man loomed out of the cloud and he shot him down automatically. There was one more somewhere, but where?

Madame Beauchene gave an ear piercing scream and Athos hurled himself towards the sound. When he reached her, he discovered the fourth kidnapper curled in a ball trying to avoid the blows she was raining down on him with a now splintered and slightly smoking piece of wood.

A blow finally caught the man’s head and he sprawled into unconsciousness. Hands belonging to the Reverend Mother gently prised the spar out of her hands. 

"He threatened my children," she said in a voice that started to shake. She looked at Athos. "Chloe?" They looked towards the pile of rubble, and suddenly both were tearing at it frantically with their hands.

"Has anyone lost a small child?" came a voice from the doorway, and Athos spun round to find Porthos standing in the doorway surveying the ruins of the room. Perched on his shoulder, tousled and filthy but apparently unharmed was Chloe.

"Chloe!" Her mother dashed across the room and took her into her arms.

Aramis stepped in behind Porthos, brushing dust from his hat. "Good God Athos, we can't leave you alone for a moment."

"You were late," Athos said dryly. "I had to take my own measures."

"Certainly seems to have gone with a bang," observed D’Artagnan, joining them cautiously. 

Aramis spotted the Mother Superior and bowed low. "Reverend Mother! Keeping Athos in trouble I see?"

She smiled. "I prayed for assistance. And I received it."

"Might pay to be more specific next time," Aramis grinned, clapping Athos heavily on the shoulder. 

"We saw your petticoats," Porthos added, lifting Luc down from the windowsill. "Good thing you were wearing them, eh Athos?"

Athos sighed, smiling despite himself. He felt someone grab his leg and looked down to find Chloe grinning up at him. He lifted her up into his arms. "Where did you get to?"

"Found her outside in the street," Porthos said, smirking. "She ran up to us and demanded to borrow a sword. Said a man needed her help. Figured it had to be you."

"I'm never going to live this down, am I?" Athos groaned.

"Nope." D'Artagnan slung an arm round him, grinning.

"Madame Beauchene, I presume?" Aramis enquired, doffing his hat gallantly.

"Yes." She looked him up and down and apparently decided he would do. "You may escort me to the Cardinal," she decreed. "There are certain words I would have with him."

"Is one of them - " Luc repeated the curseword the kidnapper had employed earlier and everyone tried very hard not to laugh.

"Woah there!" Porthos picked him up and swung him onto his shoulders. "Don’t tell me Athos taught you that, young man."

"Not entirely sure Athos would know what it meant," D’Artagnan smirked, and narrowly avoided falling through the hole in the floorboards when Athos gave him a hearty shove.

Madame Beauchene looked thoughtful. "What happened to that piece of wood?" she asked. "I might take it with me. For emphasis." 

Athos raised an eyebrow. "We can hardly advocate the use of violence against His Eminence," he protested. 

"Can't we?" asked Aramis, sounding surprised.

Athos slipped her one of the pistols belonging to their captors instead. "You might, however, wish to take this as a - souvenir of your time, say," he murmured discreetly. "It's empty of course. Whether you wish to divulge that fact to the Cardinal is entirely at your discretion."

At their feet, the surviving kidnapper groaned as he regained consciousness. The Mother Superior delivered a swift kick to his head with what proved to be a very stout boot, and he collapsed into unconsciousness again.

"I'll pretend I didn't see that," Athos murmured.

She smiled beatifically at him. "It is surely my job to bring peace to the suffering," she replied. 

"Can't argue with that," Aramis said brightly. 

"Let's get out of here," Athos suggested. "Before the rest of the building comes down around us." 

They made a hasty exit, Porthos slinging the unconscious form of their prisoner over his shoulder, despite the muttered suggestions they should drop him in the river as well.

Outside in the sunlight everyone felt a lot better, and took their leave of each other. Aramis escorted Madame Beauchene and Arianne home with the children, to change before descending on Richelieu; Porthos strode off in the direction of the garrison, carrying his burden as easily as if he were a feather, and D'Artagnan disappeared to organise a search of the river banks in case the leader of the gang had crawled ashore somewhere.

"May I accompany you anywhere, Reverend Mother?" Athos asked.

She shook her head. "Thank you, Brother Renard and I will go now to the abbey, and tomorrow I will return home to the sisters." She smiled. "I will have much to tell them. Perhaps we will meet again one day?"

"Not too soon, I hope," Athos murmured. "We seem to spell trouble for each other." He bowed. "Safe journey."

He watched them out of sight up the road, the remains of the warehouse subsiding slowly into flames behind him. When they turned the corner, he smiled, and turned away towards the garrison.

\--


End file.
